


Fine Art

by christinefromsherwood, soufflegirl91



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 06:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30017247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: “Could you just turn a little to the left? A bit more- there! Stay right there!”Q’s head ducked back down behind his sketchbook, and James suppressed a sigh. When Q had first suggested he wanted to try sketching him that morning because the light was just right, James had been excited. It had been something new and, frankly, it sounded a bit hot.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 25
Kudos: 59





	Fine Art

“Could you just turn a little to the left? A bit more- there! Stay right there!” 

Q’s head ducked back down behind his sketchbook, and James suppressed a sigh. When Q had first suggested he wanted to try sketching him that morning because the light was just right, James had been excited. It had been something new and, frankly, it sounded a bit hot.

This was... not hot. His muscles were stiff and he wished he hadn’t stripped off his T-shirt all seductively when they’d started as it got a bit chilly and he could feel his left shoulder—the one Eve had shot him in—begin to complain.

When they had managed to finally wrangle an entire weekend off together, this wasn’t how he had pictured it. For a start, his flight back from Abuja had been delayed by _three hours_ , so when he finally did make it back, Q was already asleep, the shadows under his eyes proof that this mission had been a difficult one for both of them. James hadn’t wanted to wake him, knowing that Q had been awake nearly as long as James had, so he’d simply had a quick shower and slipped quietly into bed beside him. There would be time for a proper welcome home in the morning, he had thought.

The morning had started well enough. He’d woken with a cuddly boffin against his chest and no cats in sight. That was more like it. It had been a long three weeks in Nigeria, and James had been looking forward to showing Q just how much he had missed him. Maybe after he was done reminding them both that he had escaped death’s claws once again, they could go out for the day. It looked like it was shaping up to be a bright, spring day, and he knew there was an exhibition at the Science Museum that Q had wanted to visit. Maybe they could pick up a picnic and have lunch in Hyde Park. He’d stroked a finger lightly down Q’s spine to wake him, ready to put his plan into action.

Then Q had given him that sleepy smile, the one James could never say no to, and said, all husky from sleep:

“I’m going to need you to do this one thing for me, love.” 

It had sent a shiver down James’s spine, and he could feel himself start to grin in anticipation. 

“What do you need, darling?” he’d asked, pitching his voice lower on purpose, the way that had made Q drag him into his office at headquarters that one time and press him up against the door, and- 

And just as James had allowed arousal at the memory of that spectacular encounter to blend quite pleasantly with the anticipation of a new one, Q had gone and said: 

“I need you to stay just like that, love. The window- The light- That is, I want to draw you. If you- er, don’t mind?” His ears had gone bright red as he squinted up at James, already groping for his glasses and sketchbook. 

And so James had—after a brief moment of disappointment that he wouldn’t get to shag his Quartermaster just yet—taken off his shirt, winked and like a fool said: 

“Draw me like one of your French girls.” 

It had made Q laugh, which was always a plus, but it had also given him the idea that James should take all his clothes off and lie on top of the covers, but not that way, that wasn’t quite right, and maybe he could bend his knee, little less, no actually, a bit more?

James’s cock, which had been reasonably intrigued at the beginning of the proceedings, had begun to lose interest around the first twenty minute mark. Now—James risked the artist’s ire by glancing downward—yes, now he was definitely _flagging_. Suddenly, James really wasn’t sure how he felt about being immortalized in Q’s sketchbook like this. The cold wasn’t doing him any favours either.

Shifting on the bed, he tried not to grimace as his shoulder gave a sharp pang. And that was another thing, his scars. There was the one on his left shoulder; the one across his ribs. His biceps, which he had so eagerly flexed for Q while waggling his eyebrows at the start, showed a large stretch of puckered flesh from where he’d been shot in Kosovo at the start of his career. There were the shrapnel scars on his left thigh; the ones Le Chiffre had given him… 

James twitched on the bed and made himself stop counting. Thinking about the smooth, sleek anatomy studies of Greek statues from the gallery that filled the other pages of Q’s sketchbook wouldn’t do, either.

“Are you cold?” Q asked. James shook his head in reply and to clear his mind. 

He _liked_ his scars. He did! And Q did, too! James always enjoyed it when Q laid him out on their bed and began to map them all out with his fingers and lips, starting from the one on his temple and ending with the scratch on his right calf. There really was no reason to suddenly go feeling all… exposed, or whatever this was. 

The door to the bedroom creaked open; James fought a flinch. 

“Well hello, Aslan dear, look who decided to wake up early,” Q cooed at their cat. Aslan stretched his front paws luxuriously and gave a large yawn in response, before padding over to the bed and launching himself into the blankets. James could feel the minute vibrations of the mattress as Aslan made his way up the bed, before he felt the brush of fur against his thigh. 

For a brief moment, he was intimately, uncomfortably aware that he was stark-bollock naked, and that the aforementioned bollocks were now within swiping distance of their cat’s claws. Q’s artistic vision of James “relaxing” half-sprawled on his side suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. 

Just as quickly, however, Aslan made himself comfortable against James’s legs in what Q called his ‘kitty croissant’ position. He breathed out slowly, trying not to make it look too much like a sigh of relief.

“Oh, now that is adorable,” Q sighed James risked turning his head, only to find Q looking adoringly at Aslan, sketchbook practically forgotten. “Aslan missed you, too.”

“Actually, darling, I think he just wants the sunbeam.”

Aslan had indeed managed to lie down in the curl of James’s legs, directly where the stream of sunlight was hitting the bed.

“Nonsense,” Q tutted, picking up the pencil that had fallen into his lap. “Of course he did. Hang on a moment- I need to draw this. The light on his fur is _perfect._ ”

Q’s head ducked back down again as he started sketching, and James couldn’t help feeling a little bit deflated. First, his plan for a lazy morning shag had been derailed by Q’s sketchbook, and now Q wasn’t even drawing _him_ anymore. 

“This is damaging my self-esteem, you know,” he drawled in his best drawl. 

“Hmm?” Q raised his head from his sketchbook, piercing him with his eyes. In the middle of unsubtly clenching his pecs, James suddenly wondered how successful he’d been in sounding completely unbothered. Q’s eyes flitted across his face.

“Has the spark fizzled out of our relationship so soon?” he continued to grumble with a teasing grin. “Here I am, completely at your mercy to do with as you please, and yet…” Shaking his head, he threw himself back on his pillow.

Suddenly, the bed was dipping and there was Q’s palm on his cheek. James found himself staring into Q’s worried eyes. 

“Is it your shoulders? Did you strain them with the rocket launcher? I thought you didn’t look quite- You should have said, James!” Q babbled, running a hand up his arm, unwittingly poking a sore spot. 

“What? No, Q! I’m fine!” James shrugged him off, sitting up. 

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“Quit fussing!” James knew that had not been the right thing to say as soon as the words left his mouth. 

Q pulled back, abruptly. James half expected him to climb off the bed entirely, but he only settled back on his knees with an inscrutable look on his face. 

“I’m fine,” James repeated, feeling awkward. “You can carry on drawing if you like.” 

“Well, it would be a bit difficult to continue when one of my subjects has just left the room,” Q replied drily. 

“Oh.” James hadn’t even noticed Aslan jump off the bed. “If I get up, he’ll probably come back in a minute? I should go and start breakfast, anyway. Give you time to finish drawing him.” 

Q huffed at him. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that, right?” 

“What?” James had the feeling he might have missed something.

“You.” Q poked him in his good shoulder. “You’re an idiot. Aslan sleeps in that exact spot every day. I can draw _him_ anytime.”

“Oh.” James failed to see how that made him an idiot. It wasn’t _his_ fault that Aslan got to be there all the time and James didn’t. Unless this was Q’s way of implying James should be home more often? But Q had never seemed bothered by James’s mission schedule before.

“Yes, ‘oh,’” Q prodded him again, lower this time, in the spot below his ribs that James would never admit was ticklish, even under torture. “And _you_ , you idiot, thought I was more interested in our _cat_ , when I haven’t seen you in weeks. You—” another prod, softer this time, more of a caress—“gloriously naked, in the sunlight, whole and healthy, with another new scar to prove that you really have come home to me.” 

_Another new scar..._

“But I’m fine!” James found himself protesting. “You saw that I was fine. She barely even grazed me. And I went to Medical!” 

It was when Q actually rolled his eyes at him that his brain caught up with him and registered the words “gloriously naked”. 

“Yes,” Q said, leaning in to press a kiss against the angry red mark on his thigh. “I can see that you’re fine. Now.” He caught James’s hand and pulled him down on the bed again. “But I wanted to make sure. You know?”

James blinked down at him. “So you decided to draw me?” 

Of all the things they could have been doing to celebrate his safe return from the mission, a life drawing session seemed to James on the least efficient and enjoyable end of the spectrum. 

Q huffed out a laugh. “Well, you are rather gorgeous. And you don’t like taking photos.” This last bit was said with a pointedly raised eyebrow. 

James decided not to go into their recurring argument of how having his face caught on camera was just a bad look for a spy. He never knew how to counter Q’s folder of newspaper clippings of his more publicly visible mission outcomes.

Instead, he stretched himself alongside Q, enjoying the press of his warm body against his skin.

“Oh? Did you miss me?” he asked, making sure to pitch his voice really low, the way he knew made Q bite his lips and sigh all prettily into the mic on late night com-monitoring sessions.

“Idiot,” Q sighed, shaking his head. But his eyes were once again twinkling with humour behind his glasses, the worried look long gone.

“Well, I wouldn’t blame you. I’m _fine._ ”

“You are,” Q breathed against his lips, fingers lightly stroking against his thigh.

James hummed into the kiss. It looked like his plan for the weekend was back on track. Q could finish his drawing after, if he really wanted. They might leave the picnic for tomorrow, though. James expected they wouldn’t be getting out of bed any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> 👀 Did you like our fic? Did we make you grin? Send us a smiley in the comments! We will love it like it's our firstborn child.


End file.
